CHAPTER 6 – HIS BRUISES HAD NAMES
856 Words
The next day, Aisha’s steps felt heavier than usual. She thought about the secret spot, about Kamal’s quiet presence, about how safe it had felt just to be near him yesterday.
And yet, she couldn’t shake a gnawing worry.
The bruises.
They had been subtle, hiding under his sleeves and mostly unseen during the day. But when he rolled up his sleeves to adjust his bag, she had noticed faint, angry-looking marks on his wrists. She had looked away at first, uncertain if she should even see them. But her curiosity and concern wouldn’t allow her to pretend she hadn’t noticed.
She stepped into class quietly and took her usual seat. Kamal was already there, sketchbook open, fingers tracing the edge nervously.
“Morning,” he said softly.
Aisha nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. She didn’t want to embarrass him, but she also couldn’t stay silent. Not when she could sense the storm behind his calm facade.
She waited for a lull in the lesson, then leaned closer. Her voice barely a whisper:
“Kamal… your arm… are you okay?”
He froze, pencil hovering mid-air, sketchbook trembling slightly.
His face tightened. For a moment, it seemed like he might lie. But then, after a long, heavy breath, he whispered:
“My father.”
The words landed in the space between them like a hammer striking fragile glass.
Aisha’s chest constricted. She had imagined abuse before, heard about it in whispered rumors at school, but hearing it from him — from someone she had begun to care about — hit her differently.
“I… I’m sorry,” she said softly.
He shook his head. “Don’t be. You… you don’t get it. He… he’s not just angry. He’s…” He stopped, struggling with words, eyes darting to the teacher. “He… hurts me. Sometimes he hits. Sometimes… I don’t know why I’m still here.”
Aisha felt her throat tighten.
No one should have to feel like that.
No one should have to hide pain like this under sleeves and smiles.
She reached out, gently touching his arm. Her fingers hovered over the bruises, not daring to press too hard.
“I’m here,” she said, voice trembling slightly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”
His eyes met hers, wide, fearful, yet something in them softened — a fragile trust beginning to form.
“I… I’m not supposed to tell anyone,” he murmured. “I promised… that if anyone knew, it would get worse.”
“I won’t tell,” she said firmly. “I promise.”
The bell rang, and the classroom erupted into noise, but between them, a quiet tension remained. Words had been exchanged, truths revealed, and the air felt heavier, but also… lighter.
After school, they met at the mango tree, the secret spot that had become their haven.
Kamal sat cross-legged, sketchbook open again. But this time, the sketches were different — less abstract, less chaotic. They showed moments, fleeting gestures, small snapshots of his life, each carrying weight she could almost feel.
Aisha sat beside him, hesitating. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t like talking. Talking… makes it real. Drawing… makes it bearable.”
She nodded. She understood that. She had her own ways of surviving.
But she couldn’t stop herself. Her hand brushed his as she reached for a pencil to try drawing something alongside him.
Kamal flinched slightly, but didn’t pull away.
“I… I don’t know if I can ever be okay,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the sketchbook. “I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. Hiding. Hurting. Pretending. And I… I don’t know if anyone can help me.”
Aisha’s chest ached. She wanted to tell him everything would be okay, but she knew words weren’t enough.
So instead, she drew.
She drew a small flame — fragile, flickering, but alive. She pushed the pencil toward him.
“For when it’s dark,” she said softly.
Kamal’s lips pressed together, a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. “I… thank you,” he murmured.
They sat in silence after that. The air was still, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant sounds of students leaving school grounds.
For the first time, Kamal let himself breathe around someone. Not completely. Not fully. But enough to feel a little lighter.
And Aisha realized something important: caring for someone didn’t mean saving them. Sometimes, it meant showing up, witnessing their pain, and letting them know they weren’t alone.
Hours passed, and the sun began to dip low in the sky.
As they packed up to leave, Kamal paused, looking at her with a faint, shy smile.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asked.
Aisha nodded, heart racing. “Same time.”
As she walked home, she thought about the bruises, the whispered confessions, the silent trust forming between them.
Her home would still be a battlefield, but maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t facing the world alone anymore.
And for Kamal… maybe he wasn’t either.
- Writer
